


Leges Matrimoniorum

by AerinAlanna



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Marriage, Hermione and Severus are snarky, Made-up Wizarding world history, Magical Contracts, Marriage Contracts, Marriage Law Challenge, Mutual Non-Con, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Snape's dad is an ass, YMMV non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:59:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4136667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AerinAlanna/pseuds/AerinAlanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus' father decides that the new marriage law is a perfect way to irritate his son even more than usual.  Neither Severus nor Hermione are pleased with the idea.  </p><p>A very belated take on the idea of a marriage law that adheres to very few of the requirements included in the original challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hermione does not approve and the law doesn't care

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing is mine. 
> 
> This story takes place during Hermione's seventh year, after her birthday has passed, making her eighteen and therefore of or past the age of consent in most countries. Not that the Ministry would have cared, of course.
> 
> For the purposes of this story, the marriage law simply states that Purebloods and Muggleborns cannot marry each other. They can marry each other or half-bloods, and half-bloods can marry each other.

When she looked up, her face was hard with the understanding of someone who sees no way out. She refolded the paper without looking at it, then touched her wand to her thumb with a muttered incantation before pressing the drop of blood that appeared on her thumb onto the folded letter beside her name. As soon as her blood touched the paper, the letter vanished, and Hermione turned in her chair to face Headmistress McGonagall.

“Does Professor Snape know?”

The headmistress drew a breath, then shook her head. “I do not believe that Severus is aware of his father’s decision. Nor am I sure,” she added with a straight face, “that Severus will not immediately burn the letter and hex his father into the next millennium.”

Hermione tilted her head. “Although that might do something for the wizarding world at large, I would have thought poison more his style. ‘No silly wand-waving,’ and all that.”

A corner of the headmistress' mouth twitched. “My dear, that is when he is being rational. The kind of fury that Sempronius Snape produces in his son is more likely to result in burning buildings and collapsed mountain ranges than in logical and calculated poisons.” She narrowed her eyes. “Severus is not always calm and lethally sarcastic, Miss Granger. His temper is decidedly dangerous, especially when paired with the skills he possesses.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of her word choice. “I…take it that he and his father do not get along?”

McGonagall snorted. “More like enemies, those two. Sempronius probably heard of the law and thought it would be fitting punishment for Severus.”

“Punishment for what?” Hermione asked, scribbling on a sheet of parchment she had pulled from her bag as she listened.

“Ask Merlin,” McGonagall replied with a shrug. “They’ve been at each other’s throats since his mother died—Severus’, that is. Eileen Prince was a lovely witch: a bit scattered when she was focused on a project, but delightful and intelligent.” A twinkle of bells interrupted her reminisces and, startled, she looked at Dumbledore’s clock.

“Ah, dear,” she exclaimed with forced levity. “Seems it’s time for lunch already, then. Shall we be off, Miss Granger?”

Hermione smiled at the Headmistress, but Minerva could see that the girl’s thoughts were elsewhere. “I won’t be at lunch today,” Hermione informed her decisively, her attention coming back to the Headmistress. “I have things I need to do.”

“Of course, dear,” Minerva replied with a sympathetic twist of the lips. “I understand completely. See you at dinner, then.”

Hermione headed straight for the library, sure that Madam Pince would be at lunch, and if not, would surely help her find what she was looking for. Thankfully, the ever-watchful librarian was absent and Hermione found herself quickly at the shelves of books that held magical laws, statutes, and treaties. Finding the ones on domestic law, she pulled a few of them down and carried them to a nearby table, then went back for the rest, realizing mid-journey that she could have just levitated them all in the first place. She shrugged, set the second load on the table, and pulled a quill, parchment, and ink from her bag of schoolbooks and supplies, which she kept conveniently shrunk in the pocket of her robes.

Flipping the first book from the stack open in front of her, Hermione paused to brush her hair back over her shoulders before picking up her quill, dipping it in the ink, and beginning to copy down any relevant information. As she had a free period after lunch, courtesy of the Headmistress’ command that she not fill every waking moment with classes, she sat there for the next three hours, reading and copying. Although she quite enjoyed learning all that there was to know about marriage in Wizarding Britain, and arranged magical marriage in particular, she thought at one point that all of this would have been easier if all relevant information were in Hogwarts: A History. Apparently the Hogwarts library had books on domestic Wizarding affairs that even she had passed over when doing her research for S.P.E.W.

When she finally stopped for longer than it took to grab another roll of parchment from her bag, Hermione gently sent the books back to the shelves, in correct order, of course, and grabbed the first roll of parchment. Unrolling it, she began to reread what she had written, and the girl who had thought that she knew the reaches of power and ownership in the Wizarding world was shocked by what was spelled out on the parchment in her own handwriting.

The basics of Wizarding marriage were simple, and quite congruent with Muggle marriage, from what she knew of it. The Wizarding world gave a bit more authority to the wizard than Muggles did to the man, but it made perfect sense in her mind that that was so, since the Wizarding world was a hundred years or so behind the Muggle one. The laws for arranged marriages, however, especially those supported by the Ministry, made normal Wizarding marriages seem like beacons of equality.

Hermione reached into her bag once again and pulled out the notes that she had made in the Headmistress’ office. At the top of the parchment she had written “Level Four,” which the contract she had verified listed as the Importance Level of the marriage law. She began to flip through her notes, remembering a mention in one of the texts about levels, and was trying to remember which book the information had been in when a hand swooped in front of her and snatched her pile of notes off the table. She jerked, spilling ink across the table when her knee knocked against the table leg, and looked up in a mix of astonishment and irritation to see Professor Snape thumbing through her notes, his permanent sneer of disgust missing for the first time that she could recall, replaced by cold hatred and boiling resentment. She didn’t dare speak, for once silenced by his implacable expression.

Once he had glanced over every page, he dropped them on the table at looked at her for the first time. “In my office. Now.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but he was already out the door, the breeze from his moving robes and her stuttering heart the only signs of his presence. Pulling herself together as she remembered his words, she quickly tossed everything into her bag, Evanesco’ed the mess from the ink, then hurried after him.

Reaching the door to the potions classroom, Hermione took a breath and reminded herself that she was not in danger. She had all of her essays back for Potions, and surely he wouldn’t take this out on any future essays. A voice in her head whispered that there might not be any future essays, but she shook her head to get rid of that voice and knocked on the door. She had almost given up on his answering when the door opened and she found herself facing what she could only describe as a very out-of-sorts Professor Snape.

He was dressed the same as always, in black robes and boots, and the customary sneer was back on his face, but it was one of extreme irritation, not the usual disgust that doubled whenever Harry or Neville were around, which was most always, she realized. He turned away from the door and strode to his desk to pick up a piece of paper before heading to a smaller door that Hermione realized wasn’t normally there. She followed him, reaching the door in time to see him touch it and hear the last few words of a spell in a language she didn’t recognize. The door opened, and she followed him again, into a small room with bookshelves reaching higher than she could see, all stacked with books, as were the chair, table, and, she noticed belatedly, the desk that he had immediately gone to.

Still marveling at the books and trying to catch their titles without being too obvious, she walked the few meters over to his desk, waiting for him to look up, as all his attention was focused on the paper he had taken from his classroom desk. Trying again to be subtle, she discovered that the paper he was leaning over was his copy of the marriage contract, with, she was horrified to notice, her signature on the line where she had pressed her thumb earlier. Her signature in blood.

“Miss Granger.” No matter how many times she heard her name said in the slow, clipped voice, it still made her shudder a little.

“Yes, Professor?” She resolved to be calm and rational, no matter what horrible things he said.

“Obviously you have no idea what you have done by signing…this.” He waved the contract in front of her with distaste, still not looking up.

“What grounds do you have on which to make that claim?” Hermione demanded primly, standing up straighter and reaching into her bag for her sheaf of notes.

“The grounds,” he told her, finally looking up, “that you would never have signed had you fully known what that contract entails and what you are magically bound to the moment I sign the contract as well.” He met her gaze sternly, then huffed out a breath as she pulled the parchments from her bag. “Give me those,” he ordered as he snatched them once again from her hand.

“Of all the imbeciles I have the displeasure of teaching, I would have thought that at least you, Miss Granger, would have had the absolute minimum of common sense required to know that one should research a magical contract before signing it, not afterward.” The level of his voice never changed, but the intensity rose so steadily and to such an extent that Hermione felt her eyes widen in surprise. She couldn’t remember Professor Snape being this intently serious about something since his encounter with Sirius in her third year.

“I didn’t have a chance beforehand,” she retorted. “If I didn’t sign upon reception of the contract, the Ministry has the ability to charge me with disloyalty and have me sent to Azkaban immediately. No choices or chances—the Ministry made sure of that,” she added hotly, arms folded in front of her chest and chin stuck out stubbornly.

Professor Snape began to flip through her notes again. “I assume you noticed the law’s Level of Importance?”

She nodded, glad to be back on the solid ground of answering questions. “Level four.”

“And do you know what the different levels mean, with this kind of law?”

She frowned at him. “I was getting ready to find out when you interrupted me in the library.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Surely, Miss Granger, after having read nearly every book in the entirety of Hogwarts, you have some idea what a Level of Importance is…?”

She snorted a little in indignation. “Of course.” She began to recite from The Ministry: Its Laws and History. “‘Levels of Importance are one of the many ways in which the Ministry differentiates between laws which require different amounts of control from the Ministry’s officials. Varying between one and four, these levels—’”

“Enough.”

“What?”

His sneer widened. “You have no idea how they apply to Marriage Laws. Your lack of comprehension as to how these apply to your current situation would be amusing, were it not so pathetic.” Her outrage showed immediately on her face, and he took the top sheet of parchment from the stack in his hands and turned it around for her to read. “Middle of the page, Miss Granger.”

As she read, she could feel her cheeks grow hot, and when she finished and tried to speak, no words emerged. She looked up at him in horror, only to see him leaning back in his chair, arms folded and head nodding as he saw understanding grow in her eyes.

“I did tell you that you wouldn’t have signed it if you had known what it truly entailed,” he reminded her.

“But I—”

“You had no choice; so you’ve told me,” he interrupted. “The last law that the Ministry passed dealing with marriage in such a…dramatic way, was the Norman/Saxon Intermarriage Act of 1178, when the magical populations had become so split that they married Muggles instead of each other, causing rifts in the magical knowledge of each.” He took a breath as he glanced down at the sheet in front of her. “The Levels have not been changed since then in regards to marriage, since there was no immediate need, and the Ministry thinks that applying a Level Four to this law will achieve the results they desire.”

Hermione, unsure of whether her voice would hold if she chose to speak, read over the paragraph once again, then decided that it was worth trying her voice. “House elves have more rights.”

He said nothing for a moment, then there was a strange tone to his voice when he spoke. “You discover what you’ve gotten yourself into, and your first reaction is to think of the elves?”

“I beg your pardon.” Her voice held none of his apparent amusement, and the outrage was gone from her face, replaced by a coldness that had his smirk fading and his rare humor dying. “It is not I who got myself into this, Professor Snape, but your father, who apparently—and quite correctly, I gather—thinks that marrying you to me will be fit punishment or irritation for you,” she snapped. “I see exactly what it says on that page, and yes, I know what every chauvinistic, cruel, outdated word of it means. And no, Professor, my first thought was not comparing life married under this law to that of a house elf. That was my second thought.” She found herself breathing heavily and stopped to catch her breath, then added quietly, “My first thought was terror.”

She stalked over to the other chair in the room, dragged it to where she had been standing, and sat in it stone-faced, watching him.

Severus read over the contract once more. “You are absolutely sure that you would prefer this to Azkaban or exile.”

“Yes.”

“And you are completely prepared to follow the rules set out by the contract’s Level Four status.”

“Yes, Professor,” she replied, beginning to be irritated once again.

“Tell me what it is that you will have committed to when I sign this paper,” he told her.

Her jaw dropped, and she glanced around uneasily. “But, Profes—”

“I want to hear it from you that you know what will result if I sign this paper, Miss Granger,” he informed her, leaning forward across the desk. “I will not have anyone say that I tricked you into this for revenge on Potter.”

She swallowed, blinked, then shook her hair back determinedly. “Level of Importance Four states that in regard to marriage arranged by the family and proposed by the Ministry, all power held by the Ministry relating to each marriage is handed over to the husband as head of the household when said marriage is made legal. From that point on, the husband holds all power over his wife and any children that she bears, including life, education, punishment, and finance. In addition, the husband has the power to facilitate the wife’s submission to him in all matters, by force if necessary or by preference.” Her voice trailed off as the meaning of the rule sank in once again, then she added more firmly, “Is that sufficient? Or would you prefer that I find a text that lists every possible form of submission and punishment you could require of or inflict upon me?”

She drew herself up straight in the chair, and he found himself shaking his head. “No, that will do, Miss Granger.” He took his own wand and pressed it to his thumb, then pressed it, as she had done, to the line requiring his signature. The contract disappeared, and they found themselves staring at each other in silence for a minute before Hermione asked,

“How does the ceremony work?”

Severus stared at her in shock, a fact which nearly brought Hermione to laughter, as she had never seen that expression on his face before. “What?” she asked. “Don’t Wizarding marriages have ceremonies as well?”

When he answered, she thought she saw pity in his eyes. “Miss Granger, this law does not require the usual marriage ceremony. In fact, if your parents were not Muggles, your signature would not have even been needed for this to be legal.”

“But how…?”

He sighed. “This is less of a marriage contract and more an exchange of goods, Miss Granger. A business deal, if that makes more sense. My agreement to protect and house you, in exchange for your—what would normally be your father’s—agreement to allow me to get children on you and to treat you as I please so long as I don’t kill you without good reason and fair warning.”

The solemnity of his tone, added to the feeling of his words reverberating in her head, made her feel sick. “Good reason and fair warning?” she echoed dizzily.

“Indeed, Miss Granger. Adultery, of course, but such things as treason and barrenness are also considered good reason.” She could hear the effort he made to keep his voice steady as he continued sardonically, “One wouldn’t want to allow the family to be dishonored by keeping a treasonous or unfaithful wife.”

“And your fidelity—or lack thereof—” she interjected, “would be a matter of no consequence, of course.”

The resulting silence made her blush in a combination of embarrassment at the topic—though why she was embarrassed, she didn’t know—and frustration with the laws.

Severus brought the full force of his power of intimidation into the look he gave her. “Obviously.” The intensity of his gaze softened a little. “It is not for a wife to say what her husband can and cannot do, Miss Granger.”

She held up her hand to stop him. “Wait.”

“Yes?”

“You said that no ceremony is necessary—that it’s done by signing the papers.”

He nodded. “It is.”

She looked him straight in the eyes, her lips quirked with a faint amusement that made him feel uneasy. “Then why are you continuing to call me ‘Miss Granger?’”

The look of shock settled onto his face again, where it sat for several moments as his ever-quick mind finally came to the conclusion that he had missed while thinking so hard about every other resulting catastrophe of the contract: he was actually married to that dratted, know-it-all Gryffindor.

“Damn the Ministry to hell.”

Then she did laugh, and as he put his head in his hands, he thought irritably that it was just like a bloody Gryffindor to find hilarity in his misfortune.


	2. Snape is not pleased with the implications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I post slowly, and I apologize. I'm going to blame it on my four year old and six month old and pretend that it has nothing to do with my perfectionism.

At dinner, Professor McGonagall asked her to stop by the office for a few minutes after she finished eating. When she entered the office, the headmistress urged her to sit down for a moment as the tall witch searched through a cabinet of books. Finding the one she wanted, Professor McGonagall sat down at her desk and handed the book to Hermione, who glanced down at the title curiously.

“ _Leges Matrimoniorum_?” she inquired. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it. There aren’t any copies in the library.” She opened it carefully, as the binding was very old.

The headmistress pursed her lips, then shook her head. “No, there wouldn’t be a copy in the library, Miss…Mrs Snape. An expression that Hermione could not identify crossed the witch’s face, then she let out a sigh. “It would most definitely not be considered fitting literature for the students, especially those wizards who will most likely marry traditionally. You know the Latin, of course?” 

Hermione nodded. She had deemed it necessary in fourth year to become fluent in both Greek and Latin, to save time with having to find the mistakes left by translation spells. “Well, then,” the headmistress continued, “the reading itself will not be difficult. For a Muggleborn witch with strong views on equality, however, the subject matter may be much more challenging.” Another sigh, as the older witch looked down and began to rearrange the items on her desk. “It deals with the many ways in which a wife is chattel to her husband under the old traditions, which are generally only held by the oldest and most…snooty…pureblood families anymore, but which have all been included in this new law, and are therefore of great and sudden interest to you, my dear.”

Hermione swallowed the many questions that she was desperate to ask, and instead asked only the simplest. “When must we begin to…live together?”

The headmistress glanced up from the already-tidy desk that she had been busying herself cleaning with a pitying look. “Tonight, Mrs Snape.”

Hermione walked up to the room she shared with Lavender and Parvati at a much slower pace than her usual, feet weighted by the knowledge of her dreaded aim, mind heavy with the information she was reading from the book Professor McGonagall had given her. It seemed that even the dreadfulness of the position she had expected was to be surpassed if her husband wished it.

Forty minutes of packing and a few weak excuses later, she sat in the library with the Leges Matrimoniorum on the table and her trunk in shrunken form at her feet. She had a feeling that none of the professors, whom the headmistress was currently informing of the Ministry’s secretive recent actions, would mind that small bit of magic in the halls. Her determination to finish the rather slender old book before nine was not to succeed, however, so when the hallways quieted, she placed the book in her schoolbag and picked up the trunk to place it in the bag as well before the leaving the library and heading for the potions classroom, and Professor Snape’s office beyond it.

She knocked on the door, silently reciting the Arithmantic qualities of each number to calm her anxious mind.

“Enter.” Opening the door, she walked into the room and continued over to his open office door, through which she could see him grading papers at his desk.

“Ah, Miss—Mrs Snape,” he corrected himself with a slight sneer. “What, may I ask, is the reason for your presence here?”

If he meant to intimidate her, Hermione was determined that he fail. “Might we retire to your quarters, sir?” she inquired politely, her expression carefully blank.

“And why would we do that, pray tell?”

So he’s determined to do this the hard way, is he? Hermione thought, mentally scowling at him. Fine. I can play this though if he does. Flipping through her mental copy of the _Leges_ book, she found what she was looking for. A curtsy, her head tilted slightly as she bowed it, and a quiet voice as she spoke. “It is our wedding night, sir. Would you expect me to deprive my husband of the pleasures of our marriage bed?” For a moment she felt as if she were acting in a bad play, but the shocked look on his face before he recovered and slowly came to his feet made it worth it.

“Am I to understand,” he asked, placing his hands on the desk, “that you wish us to retire to my quarters that we might…consummate our marriage?” The last words were clipped, obviously an attempt to make her lose her nerve, so she placed her gaze on his chest, at the exact level the book specified for a bride who had not received her husband’s permission to meet his gaze, and replied.

“I thought that your quarters would be more fitting than mine, sir, as there are other girls there and the beds are quite narrow for two people.”

Snape strode from behind his desk to stand in front of her, staring at her submissive posture for a moment before yanking her chin up until her eyes met his. “What sort of trick are you attempting to play, Mrs Snape?” 

Her eyes held no trace of mischief as she replied, “None, sir.”

“You expect me to believe that you are eager to fulfill the requirements of the law?” His sharp gaze caught the flicker in her eyes before she spoke.

“Not eager, sir, no.” Her chin lifted of its own volition. “But I am prepared to perform the duties of a wife.” He caught the swallow she took and searched her face for any hint as to the cause of this rapid personality transformation. Eyeing her schoolbag, he snatched it from her shoulder and began to rifle through it. Almost immediately he found the book, and, dropping the bag at her feet, shook his head in scowling disbelief. 

“Minerva,” he said on a disgusted sigh. A glance at Hermione proved him right, her eyes wide. “Why for all Morgana’s wiles would she give this to you?” he continued, gesturing with the book. Hermione looked at the ground, hands clasped in front of her. “Well?”

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her gaze to his chest once again. “Professor McGonagall thought that it would be very helpful to me, since I am Muggleborn and know very little about the rules of traditional wizarding marriages.” His eyes widened in disbelief. “And…because I am accustomed to a more…independent lifestyle than that which I shall soon have.” She swallowed again, her eyes flitting up to his for a moment. “I would ask you to be patient with me, sir; I have little experience with the amount of deference that is expected from me in these circumstances.”

Snape listened to her little speech in a state of shocked—and slightly horrified—fascination. What did Minerva think he would do to the girl—tie her to the bed as he had his way with her or beat her for every unsought comment? Did she expect him to take revenge on the girl for the position his father had put them in? Yes, he had the power to do so, legally and otherwise, but he did not torture children, and he was not such a horrible man that the lively and stubborn Gryffindor from lunchtime should become a timid and obedient traditional wife by nightfall. If Minerva, constantly interfering as ever, had not given the girl that book, he could have followed only the parts of the law that were required, despite his warnings to her earlier.

“Come with me.” Severus dropped the book onto his desk with a glare and headed for the fireplace, not stopping to see if she followed him. His hand slipped into an inner pocket of his robes and the flash of green flames in the hearth told Hermione that he had tossed floo powder into it. A muttered phrase later, he pushed her in and then repeated the process for himself.

They emerged into a rather spartan sitting room furnished with a single wingback chair, a rug in front of the fireplace, and a rather battered old tea table. Severus, emerging moments after she did, immediately took her by the arm and deposited her in the chair, his robes swirling as he faced her.

“Mrs Snape,” he murmured, then paused, apparently unsure what to do next.

“Professor?” Hermione attempted to recover her aplomb and regain control of the situation. “Are you perhaps ready to continue with the requirements of our marriage?” Her voice wavered only a fraction near the end, but both her tone and the slight hesitation pulled Severus from his thoughts.

“Again you seem far more willing to go to my bed than I am to have you there. Is there something that you have neglected to tell me, Mrs Snape?” His glower was just as intense outside the classroom as in it, she discovered, and it was far more difficult for her to sit up straight than she had anticipated.

Purposely keeping her voice prim and as know-it-all as she had ever been in class, she responded, “The anxiety caused by the anticipation of a new experience is only increased by putting it off. Once an exam is in session, the nerves one feels are automatically reduced to almost nothing.”

Her barb had seemingly hit true, for his head jerked up and the glower disappeared for a moment before he sighed, then looked around as if hoping that another chair would appear. When one did not, he made as if to lean against the wall, but found a second armchair, matching the first, at his elbow, and despite the part of him that wanted to ignore its existence solely because of the smug look on Hermione’s face and the self-satisfied twitch of her wand hand, sank into it as ungratefully as he could manage, smirking inwardly at the pout that came over her face.

Turning both himself and the chair towards her, he settled himself more comfortable into it and leaned forward a little, focusing so completely on her that he could feel the hairs rising on the back of her neck. “Unlike an exam, Madam Snape, the consummation of a marriage is the beginning, not the end, of such relations. And as the divorce of which Muggles are so fond is not an option in these kinds of marriages, the end is, as they say, a long time coming. There will be no ‘getting it over with,’ despite what you may have experienced with Potter and Weasley.” He grimaced. “I assume that you will have noted the requirement added by my father to the contract that you bear at least two children, the first within two years of matrimony?” A scowl. “He, of course, does not trust me to do my duty to the family name, even once he has thrown us together, and must therefore specify his desired results. Fiend.”

“Were you going to?” Her blatant curiosity brought a bigger scowl to his face.

“Was I going to what?” he growled.

“Have children.” She leaned forward in the chair, her gaze far more intently on him than he preferred outside of the classroom. “Because you’re cutting it rather close, you know, even with Wizarding lifespans, and the older the father, the more likely that the child will be a squib, and—” 

“Enough.” She startled back into her seat, eyes wide. “My former plans are none of your concern.”

She lifted her shoulders, then dropped them as she let out a breath. “Fine. I’ve come up with some ideas to make this easier on both of us.” When he leveled a very disbelieving frown at her, she shrugged and clarified. “Well, at least the bedroom part. The rest is still complicated.” She waved a hand to get back on topic. “Anyway, there are already spells to tell when a witch is going to menstruate, so there is probably one to tell when she’s most fertile, and then with the addition of fertility potions, we should be able to conceive whenever we decide, while requiring very few instances of intercourse. And if there isn’t such a spell, I’m nearly positive that we could invent one, and then—”

She noticed he was shaking his head and broke off. “What? Did I forget to take something into account?”

His gaze had dropped to his knees as she spoke, and now he dragged it up to meet hers. 

“Miss—Mrs Snape,” he began slowly, his voice tinged with a reluctance that she had never before heard, “My self-control is rather stronger than that of the average male, but I do not believe that I will be capable of sleeping beside you for an extended length of time over many years without engaging in marital relations more often than the three or four times that you seem to be suggesting.”

She opened her mouth to speak, her brows wrinkled in confusion, and he held up a hand. “Please, Miss Granger, do not make me feel worse than I already do.” Hermione closed her mouth, not even attempting to correct his lapse.

“It is not—my reluctance to bed you is because you are my student,” he informed her bluntly. “If that were not the case, this would be a far simpler matter. You are intelligent, driven, and far more capable than most of the students who pass through this school.” Keeping his gaze on the wall behind her chair so as to avoid the shock on her face, he continued. “You are…not unattractive, have qualities and interests that should merge well with mine over time, and have the potential to excel in a field of your choosing if you can manage to stop reciting from your textbooks constantly.” He snorted bitterly. “I am sure that my father discovered all of that when choosing you for me, and that your status as a student pleased him beyond words.”

Now she angled a questioning glance at him and he answered with a self-deprecating quirk of his mouth. “My father is not so desperate to irritate me on a daily basis that he would choose a wife for me with neither sense nor intelligence. For one, he knows that I would break my wand rather than be saddled with such a witch. Also,” he straightened in his chair, “he does not want idiot grandchildren. But he can, however, make me feel guilty every day of our marriage by marrying me to a witch who fulfills all of the necessary requirements but is still a student, supposedly under my protection against the dangers of the world, and off limits in everything demanded of this marriage.”


End file.
